Odium
by Liregon
Summary: When she was but a child, she watched as all whom she loved were killed mercilessly. Years later, she goes to avenge their deaths by killing those who slayed them... and the King of Gondor. Chapter 7 & 8 up!
1. Prologue: Massacre!

Disclaimer: I only own those characters that I conjured up.

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– Odium–  
Prologue

The day was like any other.

Or rather, as normal as it could be when the world was at war.

But the village, the tribe that lived within it, was spared the wars. They lived further away from most clans, and life was as peaceful as it could get, for they were so detached from the world that all the fighting and the bloodshed never reached them. They only came in the form of news passed by word of mouth, though by the time they reached the village, it was difficult to separate the truth from the exaggerations.

The men were out in the fields, checking on the crops, and doing whatever they could to ensure that the coming harvest was better than the year before, and would indeed tide them through the winter, and until the next harvest. The women were doing their usual household chores –washing the clothes in the gurgling stream nearby or making breakfast for the soon to be hungry men –resigned to the fact that in this society, the men were the top of the hierarchy. And they, of the female variety, had to see to their needs. The children however, seemed oblivious to any of the above. All they knew in their young minds was the fact that it was a sunny day, with the clouds in the sky promising no rain. It was a fine day for fun and play, and to enjoy their childhood as best as they could.

It seemed abnormal to be still in this peaceful state when men were fighting not but leagues from them, but the villagers were hardly touched by the warfare, including their recent defeat at the Pelennor. The shiny Haradrim armour that had been passed down generations from the fathers to sons were now dusty with long keeping, their golden sheen gone; for the men were hardly, if ever, called for war. It seemed that whenever there was a muster of the Haradrim in Near Harad, they were always passed over, which gave the women some measure of joy, since their husbands were not die in battle, and would be there to support them.

A scrawny little girl –not more than eight years of age– expertly scrambled up a nearby fruit tree, a hand woven basket swinging on the crook of her elbow. She hummed a little tune as she went along, picking the fruits and putting them into her basket, crawling upon the sturdy branches of the tree like a cat. Occasionally she would eat them at random; her eyes closed in ecstasy as she savoured the sweetness of the fruit. When the basket was full, and the tree had been picked of all the good fruits, she would quickly shimmy down, and bring it to her mother, before continuing on the next tree.

She was on her third tree when it happened.

The hoofbeats appeared from nowhere, loud and threatening, almost deafening as they came nearer. Scared, she hid in the leaves of the tree, peeking out cautiously through the spaces between them.

A score of men soon came into clearer view, and all were on horseback. For a moment, she thought that the Harad captains had finally arrived to claim the men for war. But it was not. Instead, the men were wearing unfamiliar armour, emblazoned across the chest with the motif of a White Tree in full bloom.

The girl's brow furrowed in deep thinking as she tried to place the crest of the men. She remembered her grandfather teaching her about the various realms of Middle Earth, and about the Shadow in Mordor. She tried to dig up the memories of those events. They only happened but a year ago, before he died, but it seemed so long! There was a rhyme he taught her, on how to distinguish the various races, the long list.

_White Tree… fair skinned men…the White Tree…_

Her thoughts were abruptly cut off when she heard hoofbeats stop just under the tree where she was hidden. The men dismounted, and a voice was heard,

"Do what you did at the last village, and make it quick!"

She stifled a gasp as she wondered about what they were about to do. They did not exactly seemed to be allies, and if they attacked the other villages, a messenger would come. Unless…

_They were slaughtered._

The basket was forgotten, and left hanging precariously on the short branch above her as she peeped out to see what the 'bad men' were up to. Her friends had all ran back to their parents, and those that were too late were run though by the sharp steel blades, and they were dead before they hit the ground, lying in their own blood.

She felt sickened as she watched from her hiding place, trying not to make a sound lest they found her. All she wanted to do was to be in her father's comforting arms, having him stroke her hair and whispering to her in that soothing voice of his that everything was all right.

But deep in her heart, she knew she would never see them alive again.

The men had since been alerted, and had returned from their work. They stood in front of their houses, their military ceremonial blades in hand, ready to defend their family to their dying breath. But the fair-skinned men just sneered at them and laughed, jeering at them, and taunting them to challenge them if they were not cowards.

She watched, horrified, as the village chief was first to take up the challenge… and paid dearly with his life. His knife-hand was severed at the elbow as he ran towards them, and he knelt on his knees, trying his best to prevent the spurt of deep red arterial blood. But his ordeal was not over yet, as a fair-skinned man strode slowly up to him, and decapitated him in a single, clean blow; the head landing a few feet away. The headless ruined body toppled over, with its left arm still tightly holding onto the severed right.

Frowning, the man wiped his sword onto the chief's clothes, the stain making a thin red streak across his chest, and spat on his corpse, but turning back to the other men.

His actions seemed to have roused them, and they charged, unwillingly getting caught in the trap like flies in a spider's web. The fighting that came afterwards was more of a killing spree among innocents than that of duels, for with every fair-skinned men had was felled, seven Harads were mercilessly killed, with numerous stab wounds and disappearing limbs, their blood soaking into the thirsty soil. Their blunt blades, rusty from years of disuse and from well keeping, were of no match against the soldiers' well-sharpened swords that were so finely balanced, and that were wielded with skill.

The little girl fervently hoped that they would be gone as soon as they slaughtered the men, but she was wrong.

The men were not enough to satisfy their thirst for blood. They had to go for the innocents instead. They tried knocking on the doors, just to amuse themselves as they watching through the windows, sardonic smiles arrayed on their faces as they watch the occupants squirm away from the door in fright. A few well-aimed hits shattered the doors, no matter how many locks there were securing it, and they entered.

The girl did not know what happened next, but she could very well guess. The screams from the women, all almost mothers to her, rose up into the air and melded together to become a sickening melody of torture and pain, all so high and piercing and shrill that she felt shivers down her spine, and she stuffed her skirts into her ears to shut out the sounds.

All too soon the chorus ended, and all was silent, save the ringing of steel blades being back in their sheaths, and the cries of her friends, and of the newborn babes, cherubic and innocent in their plight.

She watched as one child ran out of the home, screaming for help. But there would not be for many leagues.

She watched as he was killed with a dagger thrown into his head, its point reappearing in the front of his face, and tried not to scream.

She watched as a man walked out of the wooden hut, and kicked his dead corpse, taking out his sword and cutting it up into almost bite-sized pieces, before going back into the hut.

And she decided to close her eyes, and thus saw no more. For a while.

She opened them again, upon hearing footsteps under her tree, the men were all mounting their horses, and getting ready to leave. She heard as they affirmed among themselves that everyone had been killed, and no one was spared. As they bragged about the number of conquests –though she did not know what they meant –they had. She heard as one of them uttered "Harad scum" in a voice filled with disdain, and, as if it was a signal agreed upon, all spat on the ground in direction of her village.

And then they were off, the hooves of their horses kicking up dust in their wake.

And waited till they were barely a speck in the distance, and until she could see no being around, save the vultures that had already descended to feast upon the dead, before climbing down the tree, hugging the basket to her chest.

Shooing the hungry birds away, she slowly walked through the huts, carefully stepping over the various corpses of the men that died in their first battle, unequal as it was. She knelt next to the body of her father, as he looked up to the heavens with blank eyes, a huge hole in his chest where his heart once pumped life.

Sobbing softly, she knelt on the ground beside him, and kissing him on his cheek that was still warm, she clasped his strong, calloused hand in hers.

"I'm here, Papa, I'm here…I'm sorry I came too late to stop them, so sorry…"

But was no answer, even as she hoped for one, perhaps just a slight movement of his lips would comfort her, and break the ice that started to form around her heart.

With tears marring her vision, she made her way to her hut, where she had grew up in all her life. Where the rest of her family were.

It was only when she reached the doorstep that she saw the cut-up mutilated body of the child.

It was her brother.

What had once been a healthy loving boy that was full of life was but an empty shell which was in many pieces, with various parts of his body all over the ground. His eyes were open in an expression of shock and pain, his mouth open in a silent scream for help that would never come.

The girl could not prevent it any longer, and, turning away, she bent over and vomited till nothing came out save liquid. And still she tried to rid her mind of the horrible sight.

Running into the hut in a desperate attempt to seek solace, she saw her mother slumped in a corner, her blood streaking down in a straight line on the wall behind her. Her unseeing eyes gazing straight in front of her accusingly, perhaps at her killer. Her baby sister was on the other side of the hut. A dark red patch high on the wall showing that she had been flung without care. A long knife had been run through her bottom up, its point glittering in the cheery sunlight that filtered through the window.

Grimacing, the girl walked towards her sister, the basket on the floor as she gingerly pulled the sword out, blood dripping slowly off its metallic length.

She went out into the Sun, sincerely hating its fiery depths. Somewhere in the North the clouds had gathered, and it was dark. But it had already been a dark day for her and her clan since the horsemen arrived.

Then it hit her.

_Gondor… the men are from Gondor…_

She finally recalled her grandfather telling her that the Gondorian men were strong, valiant and loyal. They were willing to fight to their last, and die in battle. And they were already merciful towards the unarmed, and untrained. Though they had killed his comrades in battle, he had a deep respect for them.

But what she had seen that day had neither those attributes. These men had called them scum, and barbarians, but they were no better.

Staring out at the carnage around her, and with the Gondorian sword tightly gripped in her left hand, a fire was swiftly kindled in her eyes, and her lips were set in a hard line.

The men were going to rue the day they came here. _Gondor _was going to pay for all the lives of her family and friends.

She was going to avenge their innocent deaths with those of their killers.

_They will suffer for it._

What the little girl never noticed was the solitary fruit in her other hand, that had been involuntarily crushed, its red juice flowing into the grass, and mingling with the blood of those slewn…

_Tbc…_

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Note: 

The Gondorians were those 'deserters' from the army that Aragorn led to the Black Gate. In the book, he saw that many were frightened, and therefore ordered them to go and free Cair Andros and 'hold it in defence of Gondor'. I'm assuming that some men did not follow his orders but instead when to Harad to have their 'fun'. Although most of the men who left were on foot, the men were on horseback as they stole the horses from the other Harad villages that they entered. Although Harad is rather far from Mordor to some extent, the march from Minas Tirith took some days to reach the Morannon.

I'm basing my story on a Harad as most stories are _against_ them, so we hardly know what they actually feel towards the people of Gondor and Rohan etc.

And my apologies if you lose your appetite to eat, though I highly doubt it.

Please Read and Review! And do tell me whether I should continue on this story. Or not.


	2. 1: Recollections and Training

Disclaimer: I only own those characters that I conjured up.

Thanks to all who reviewed. Am deeply sorry that I took so long to update. Was busy with holiday homework and whatnot.

Thanks to all who took the time to review.

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– Odium–  
Chapter One 

The sunlight beat heavily down upon the vast plain that stretched as far south as the eye could see, with various huts here and there, marring the gentle flatness of the land. It was only spring, yet the temperatures were hotter than the past years, and the people wondered what would happen during summer. The wells had to be covered up, that was certain, for they did not have much hope for frequent rain. Water, no matter have coveted and wanted, had to be used sparingly to avoid drought too. The women sighed as they went through what had to be done in their minds, making mental notes to remind their husbands about them when they got back from their labour.

A slender young woman stood a furlong away from the nearest hut on the plain. She was fair, and unlike more Haradrim women, who were like cherries burnt from the thoughtless sun. The worries of the oncoming summer bothered her little, and she had long pushed away the small nagging thought of surviving it. There was no use to pay much attention to it anyway. Plans usually went wrong, no matter however meticulously planned, and besides, she doubted that she would be in the village for the summer. Nor the summers after.

The thoughts stayed for barely a second before being swatted away, a frown of irritation on her face. She hated for something, _anything_ to break her concentration even before she started. Maybe it was due to growing up these past years with only one goal in her mind, or perhaps it was just her.

But whatever it was, it did not really matter. Not now.

Her sword was unsheathed from its cover strapped upon her back with not even a sound, and finesse horned from years of practice and pain. She gripped it in her left hand, the familiar worn leather grip molding into her palm. The sword was meant to be double-handed, but she had other purposes in mind for the other hand.

As she readied herself in battle stance, her sword held at ready in front of her, the empty plain disappeared. In her mind's eye, a circle of fair-skinned men that was several men thick, armed and ready, replaced it. Their sneers echoed in her ears as they were wrote her off, believing her to be a weakling.

She imagined the first one coming towards her, and her training had hence begun.

The young woman moved and fought with such liquid grace that it almost seemed that she was in a deadly, yet elaborate dance in which only one person would be the victor. To mistake her for an elf was likely, but she killed with such merciless strokes that it seemed that it was not so fair a being of Arda. Her blade whistled through the air as she whipped it around, her brownish-black hair flying in the sudden wind, imitating her movements. Her steps were balanced, and steady as she pivoted and turned, sometimes switching her sword to her other hand. The rather well defined, yet subtle muscles on her arm showed as her arm moved with every stroke.

She imagined dealing the blow she had perfected over the years, it was painful, no doubt, but her opponent would not die. Not instantly anyway. It would take a while to kill, as he would suffer extreme pain and internal bleeding as well.

She would use it on the Gondorian King.

As the number of 'assailants' rapidly dwindled under her swift strokes, her right hand sought the Gondorian short sword that she had strapped to her calf, crouching in the process to cut off the legs of her next enemy. The short sword soon joined the dance as she whirled and sliced, following a soundless rhythm that only she could hear, imagining the sickened screams of the men who had lost their limbs and lying in their own filthy blood, deep red and gushing unceasingly.

She cut her last man down, his body lying on the ground in six different parts.

Her training was over.

The 'men' vanished, and the empty plain came back into place. She had all but gone two fathoms or so from whence she had started, which bettered yesterday's. Her breaths came in short, yet measured pants, as she slowed down the beating of her heart to normal. Beads of perspiration appeared on her forehead and body from the heat, and not so much from the exertion underwent.

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At the door of the hut an old man stood, arms folded over his chest as he surveyed his pupil with pride. He was not so old as most, though long hours under the sun had gave him a weathered appearance, and made his skin look rather leathery. Otherwise, he had but only seen forty-two summers, and was rather lucky to have had. His comrades had perished in the War of the Ring, murdered by the men of Rohan and Gondor in a bid to save their lives. His father had luckily decided to teach him the skills of a killer, skills that had been passed down in the family since the Haradrim arrived in Middle-Earth.

He had not wanted to marry, and had been estranged from his family as a result of it, and came to this village, where he had been living for more than a score years. He changed his name to Hidaer, and from then on, never had any relation with his family; save for the craft he had been taught. His former name had then faded into nothingness, and not even he had remembered it.

He remembered the day the little girl came to him, her dark hair sticking to her face, wet and matted with sweat and blood. Her eyes shone wild with desperation and perhaps, fury; unshed tears brimming in the turquoise-blue depths of her eyes. She had been calling for help, her voice hoarse from it even as she ran. She had ran into the village, almost three leagues away from her own and approached the first person she had seen: him. Her little hand had gripped the alien sword till her knuckles turned white, and even as he coaxed her to let it go, she refused to, her lips in a grim line as she clinged onto him.

Then she had fainted from weariness.

The sun was almost setting when she awoke, and looked around her, eyes blank as she surveyed the strange faces looking at her. They had asked her what happened, and she told them of the events in halts, pausing occasionally for much-needed water to soothe her throat. The men were amazed that she had managed to survive the slaughter, but even more so, since she spoke without emotion and as it seemed, without care for the dead. All they saw was fire burning in her eyes whenever she touched the Gondorian sword beside her. She had pleaded with them to bury her family in the village, and gone with them to the village.

Many men had barely survived the ordeal of looking at the bodies, and they came away traumatized, and horrified that those men had done such a thing. The men that had done this could not be Gondorians, they thought, much as the young girl insisted that they were, even describing their attire. But most of the men were skeptical at first, believing them to be in disguise, but when news of the other villages poured in, they finally grudgingly conceded.

He had taken her in and adopted her, teaching her what she needed to know about war and killing, and continuing her studies on letters and words in both Haradaic and Common Speech. The girl was intelligent and learnt quickly, grasping many concepts with far more understanding than the children older than she was. She was curious about anything, and more still, in the art of war. Still, even some weeks in the village, she was still rather suspicious of everyone, even him, and refused to tell her name. As a result, they called her Tarla, which loosely meant 'lone' in their tongue. It was only in her fourth month there that she decided to say it.

**---Flashback---**

"Father," she said as she entered his study, eyes wide and hinting with some uncertainty.

Hidaer put down the trade records and looked at the girl, the various problems temporarily forgotten. It had only been a few months, yet it seemed that she was the daughter he never had, and seeing her always brought a smile to his face. Still, it was too early to pass on the skills that she craved for her revenge.

"What bothers you, child? You should be outdoors. Not staying in your room murmuring to yourself."

Her look reminded him for himself when he was young, and had been caught doing something wrong and forbidden, like disturbing the herd in the middle of the night, or stealing extra food for his dog. A pang hit his heart as he remembered Rufas, who died trying to save its master from a wild wolf.

"But how did you know I was in my room?"

The girl looked at her adoptive father as an amused smile appeared on his face and knew that she was to figure out the answer herself.

"I just do, Tarla. What were you going to tell me?"

"My name."

Hidaer's eyebrow rose in surprise. The girl had long kept her name in secrecy, and now…? It was rather weird, and out of the blue too.

"Why now?"

"Because I'm tired of keeping it to myself."

"Come here," he said, beckoning her closer to him, arms open. She came and sat in his lap, her eyes looking at him, and _into_ him. It seemed to him as though she had the ability to see into the souls of people themselves.

"My name is Kyelia. Papa gave it to me as soon as I could speak. He said the first word I uttered sounded like it. He told me never to tell it to anyone unless I was fully sure of that person's well intentions, and to keep it close to my heart."

The girl's eyes brimmed with unspoken tears.

"I miss them sometimes, Father," she said as the first of her tears rolled down her cheek in a long time.

"Sssh, it will be all right, you'll be all right…Kyelia, you will be just… fine," Hidaer uttered as he held her close, rocking her back and forth as she poured out her sorrow to him.

**---End Flashback---**

The sound of footsteps snapped him back to the present as he looked up to see Kyelia walking calmly back towards him. It had been almost twelve years since the day she had ran into the village. As much as she brought him joy over the years, there was also the occasional pain. She was headstrong, and would not listen to counsels other than her own, and sometimes his. Her mind was made up the moment she thought of something, and as much as he tried to tell her that the King of Gondor was innocent, she did not care. They were all the same, she had insisted some years back and her tone disallowed further discussion.

He had taught her the skills when she was ten, partly because she had taken it upon herself to irritate him without rest all day and night. As usual, she was quick and swift, usually practicing with the Gondorian sword instead of the wooden one when she thought he was unaware, even trying out new maneuvers. He taught her to craft her own arrows, and of healing, lest she suffer any wounds. She was a natural with the bow, though it took her some time to get used to the sword. Before long, she was going hunting with the men, as much as they loathed her to, and killed a wolf or two, not too bad for a female of but fourteen.

Her coming of age was the next Tuesday, not more than but three days from now. Still, he knew that she itched for the day to come, so as to be able to start her journey via Harad Road.

"How did I do Father?"

The man smiled and nodded, and to the girl, she knew that he was satisfied. Three days would pass before long.

And then, her family would finally be avenged.

_Tbc…_

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Note: 

-Tarla: no, there's no such word in Haradaic out there in case you're wondering. I just coined it up.  
-The men of the village survived because they were kinda lived further Southwest, and the Gondorians did not go there, perhaps because it was too far.  
-She calls her real father 'Papa' and her adoptive one akaHidaer 'Father'.  
-Harad Road: mentioned on the map in UT, it starts from Far Harad, and winds slowly into Gondor, passing Ithillen and staying close to the borders of Mordor.  
-Furlong 221m  
-Fathom around 2m.

Please help me Review! Thank You!!!

**Master Akane:** Thanks for reviewing! Glad you enjoyed it!

**Wen E:** yep, I like writing massacres. )

**aranel anwe: **you assumed right! Thank you!

**A girl named bob:** I'm gonna update. Thanks for the review!


	3. 2: Setting Out

Disclaimer: I only own those characters that I conjured up.

Thanks to all who reviewed. I really appreciate it!

Concerning the change in title… well, I came across this word while searching the dictionary. It means 'hate, coupled with disgust'. I thought it was a fitting title as it represents her feelings towards the Gondorians…

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– Odium –  
Chapter Two

The loud and intruding call of a rooster crept into her dreamless sleep, drawing her away from a world where she was safe, and where everything was perfect. Groaning softly, she burrowed back under the covers, her mind still fogged from sleep. The rising sleep shone slowly into her room, each ray coming to rest upon where she lay.

Somewhere at the back of her mind a thought surfaced, and was not even fully formed before she pushed it back again. Was it so impossible to get a few more precious minutes of rest before she awoke? After all, she had spent the whole of last night packing, surely Father would have her sleep longer.

_Wait. Packing? What did I have to pack for? Not for the trading… that was last week…_

She sat bolt upright in bed –wide awake and alert –as reality finally crept into mind, giving herself a swift mental kick for even managing to forget it. It was her birthday, yes, but it was something more important since she would be finally to be _free_, and do whatever she wanted.

Which, of course, included _that_ plan.

She was ready within minutes, padding down the short hallway towards the small room where they usually dined. Hidaer was already there, and breakfast was ready. Rufas II though, was nowhere to be found near his place at his master's feet, and the girl surmised that he was already guarding the herds.

"Morning, Father," Kyelia said, trying to sound neutral, hiding the nervous excitement that had somewhat risen in her voice. She watched as her adoptive father raised an eyebrow in answer, and fought to keep a smile from appearing on her face.

"Come here," he finally spoke, dispelling the easy silence between them as he rose from his seat. Unfolding her in his arms, he hugged her tight, knowing that she would be gone soon. And it was perhaps the last time he would ever see her, alive or dead. Whispering into her ear, he asked if she was ready, getting a firm nod in answer. She was too impatient!

Though somehow he knew, that if he was in her position, he would have done the same. The fire of youth coursed strongly though her veins, and she was young still, with the whole future before her. Though by a twisted chance of fate, she had been 'made' to veer from the norm, and walk a different, darker path.

As he let her go, she stepped back and looked at him, chin held high. It was barely morning, and she was telling him she wanted to go. Preposterous!

"You have to eat before you set out, you know," he said in reply to her unspoken question.

Nodding slightly, she complied, and started to take her meal, abeit a little too hurriedly. So 'engrossed' was she in her food that she hardly noticed that Hidaer barely ate. Before long, her meal was finished.

The girl stood up as he gestured her to, and followed him hesitantly away out of the house, even as a helper came to clear the table. Her footsteps were sure and steady as she followed him past the stables and to a small storehouse on the premises, tucked some distance away from the house. A look of surprise registered on her face as she wondered where it was all leading. After all, the storehouse had been left forgotten for as long as she remembered. The last time she entered it was on a dare, many years back. The interior was dusty, and cobwebby, and various rodents and insects had seen it fit to build homes there. The tools it had used to contain were rusty and dented with lack of use, made obsolete by newer counterparts. Besides, being exposed to sunshine and rain, she highly doubted that its condition would be somewhat normal.

So why was he leading her there?

As they rounded the corner, she started to slowly understand. The old storehouse seemed different from then. It had been repaired, the webs that framed the entrance had been cleared, and the rotten wood replaced with new ones. As Hidaer slowly led her up the steps, he turned and smiled.

"Close your eyes."

She obliged, and stood there, not knowing what to expect.

The door barely creaked as it was opened, the hinges having been well oiled. Kyelia felt a gentle nudge on her shoulder as he showed her in, and another nudge as a signal to stop. Resisting a curious urge to peak out, she waited.

And waited.

And finally decided to open her eyes.

"Father, stop to-"

Her half-constructed sentence died in her throat as she saw the sword in front of her.

It was propped up against the wall, sheathed and inviting, calling for her to hold it. She scarcely noticed the faint trembling of her hands as she approached the sword, and took it up. Its hilt was wrapped in leather, and fashioned to adhere to the ridges of her hand even as she held it. Its pommel was of solid metal, smooth to the touch. The sheath was but smooth leather, sturdy yet tough. Straps were sewn to its length, enabling her to attach it onto her back. Its insides were lined with soft silk, so as not to scratch the blade.

Slowly, she unsheathed it, admiring it as she went along. The blade was gleaming and new as the sunlight shone upon it. It was slightly curved, slender, and best of all: it was a double-edged sword. As she hoped, it was double-handed, as she liked it.

A shift in step was heard from behind, and she was reminded of being in the small storehouse. Inserting the sword back into its sheath smoothly, she turned around to meet the shining face of Hidaer.

"Thank you Father, it was the best gift I ever received."

He watched her as her eyes gleamed with joy, and happiness. She still liked her worn sword, the one that he had passed to her that spring when she was but thirteen. It was a gift from his father, on and on back into the distant history when the world was formed. But he knew she had always wanted a sword of her own. Now she had it.

"You forged it, didn't you, Father?"

Kyelia did not need to wait for an answer to know she was right. The rather sheepish look in his eyes told her all she needed to know. All those nights that he had bade her good night before retiring to his room. Only that he did not. Sure, the fires were blown out, and the door was shut, but she remembered the odd clanging sounds that appeared in the middle of the night. They were however, muffled to her ears, being some distance away near the smithy, as she reckoned. They went on for a week, maybe two, before stopping the night before the last.

As she expected, her father said nothing, but instead turned to walk out. She was passed by him to go to the 'practice field' as she called it, she heard him murmuring something, and strained to hear it. The words made her laugh and she faked an annoyed look in his direction. Looking back at her, Hidaer waved her off towards the plain.

He had said, "and I was wondering how long it would take for you to finally open your eyes."

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_She was back in her old village. It was untouched, the very image of it before the massacre. But the air seemed strange. It smelt of blood, and of decomposing flesh._

_She looked around as she walked through it. No bodies littered the ground, nor was there any sign of blood. Here and there she could hear the happy screams of children at play, and the faint humming of women at work. In the distance, she could hear the barking of sheepdogs, and of bleating of lambs as they grazed._

_Yet she could not see anyone._

_She looked down as a weight pulled down on one hand, and looked to see the Gondorian sword. It was bloody, and as she walked, blood dripped behind her like a ghastly trail. She tried to clean it with her coarse dress, but it seemed impossible._

_The sound of footsteps distracted her from her task, and she looked up to see her father. He was walking towards her, a cloak around his broad shoulders and a smile upon his weathered face. She felt herself becoming a young face again, longing for her father's gentle embrace and soothing words. She started running towards him, and was caught in his arms. He was swinging her around, as if she was but a feather, weightless. His mouth was moving, yet there was no sound. Somehow she made out his words, "You've returned, daughter! You're home."_

_As he let her down, she saw the rest of her family. Her mother came out, carrying her baby sister, gurgling softly in her blankets. Her brother was next, still a young boy no more than six. She shook her head and looked at them. The massacre was but a nightmare, nothing more. She could remain here in the village, and be with her family forever._

_But something was wrong._

_She was twenty, and they had barely aged a day since that hot summer. Before she could figure out the pieces of the puzzle, a horse neighed behind her, and she turned around in shock. But the horse was gone. It had already galloped away, a fair-skinned man upon its muscular back._

_Her family!_

_She turned back around, to try to help them. She could not fail again!_

_But she was still too late._

_She watched in horror, as her father collapsed. The cloak was flung off his body, to reveal a fist-shaped hole in his chest. Blood was gushing out from that hole, but there was no heart. Her brother took a few tentative steps towards her, and with every step, there came a myriad of fresh new blood lines running all over his body. She flinched as a dagger pierced through his skull, even as an unseen hand decapitated his head. His torso toppled, the small pieces piling upon each other. Her mother, had retreated till her back faced a hut. She started to run over to help, but her limbs were weighed down like lead. She watched helplessly as her mother slid down, leaving a trail of blood._

_Her sister!_

_She looked around, heart pounding in her chest, before her eyes came to rest upon her sister's prone form. The sword was pierced through her… but it was in her hand! Glancing at her hand, her worst fears were confirmed. She was not holding the sword._

_Bodies materialised out from the air, and toppled around her, dead before they fell._

_She quickly walked backwards, occasionally stumbling over bodies. She was but a little girl now, fearful of death, and overcome with sorrow._

_It hit her then: she was in the Land of Ghosts._

Kyelia's eyes snapped open as her nightmare ended. In the west, the sun was but starting to set, and her journey was to begin at dusk, an hour away. The dream troubled her. It had stopped years ago, after she started training, but now, it was back in its gory fullness. Perhaps it was a message from the underworld, or maybe it was just nothing. But whatever the hidden message was, her family, and her village at that, were to be avenged.

---------------------------------------------------

"Kyelia!" the man called irritatedly for what seemed like the hundredth time. He had chased the girl off to rest after she finished playing with her new sword, and she had insisted that she was not tired. Still, it was almost three hours since then, and she was still in deep slumber. Dusk was setting in, and she was to go soon.

"You called me, Father?"

And she was there, standing in front of him, fully prepared and ready to go. Her new sword, yet unnamed, was strapped onto her back, its pommel sticking prominently from behind her right shoulder. Her bow and arrows too strapped to her back. She was dressed in her normal attire: a leather vest laced over a loose tunic, and leggings. It was not customary wear for Harad women, who often wore coarse dresses made of spun wool, but the girl had decided a long time ago that she had to wear this to fight properly. Her bag of provisions that also contained some money was slung by her side, and made for easy disposition if she needed to defend herself.

"You are… ready," he said, still quite unbelieving that she was also to fulfil her vow. As usual, he got a nod. After all, the girl hardly wanted to waste breath unless necessary. He was mildly surprised as she went up to him, and embrace him.

"Farewell Father," she whispered before turning and going out of the door.

"Wait!"

She stopped, yet did not turn to look at him.

"I will accompany you to the Road."

"I kno-"

"I know you know the way. But just this once, Kyelia, just to see you off safely."

His soft voice almost cracked the icy chill that had started to settle around her heart. Her shoulder sagged, and he knew that she had relented.

---------------------------------------------------

It took them a quarter hour to get to Harad Road, and when they reached, they almost passed it. The dry grass that grew on the lands almost covered the well-worn path, for it had not been used since the days of the War of the Ring.

He bade her goodbye, and wished her well on her journey. The road was long, and hard, with many unseen dangers. His heart broke to leave his adoptive daughter alone after almost twelve years, though he knew full well that she was capable of defending herself.

An awkward silence ensued before she spoke, "I'd better get going."

Lowering her head, she turned to the Road, and stepped onto its broad width. Her hand held onto the strap of her bag as she looked far into the distance. Though there would be nothing but grass and sand for leagues, she sworn she could faintly see the city of Minas Tirith, outlined against the setting sun. She was headed there. Exhaling softly, she slowly started to walk.

A bark shattered the evening air, and Kyelia turned around. Rufas II was bearing down hard upon her, and in seconds he was there, bringing her to the ground. It seemed as if he was bent on licking her to death, as his slobbery tongue licked her death, as though punishing her for forgetting him. She attempted to lift the heavy dog up, turning pleading eyes to Hidaer –who stood by the side laughing –to help her. It turned out that help was not needed as the dog slowly walked off, and stood at the side, looking at her forlornly.

She got up to her feet, wiping her face dry with a towel that Hidaer had passed to her.

"Sorry, Rufas, but I really must go," she told him, petting his head.

Then she was walking down the Road, Rufas following beside her, intent on accompanying her to Gondor. However, they had scarcely gone ten fathoms before Kyelia hurried the dog back towards his master, and he reluctantly left.

She looked back at them, as she stood there. They were the only family she had known for the past years, and now, they were not there for her anymore. She was alone, in a world she barely knew, with neither kin nor kith. She raised an arm in farewell towards the figures of a man and his dog, backlit by the sun.

---------------------------------------------------

Hidaer stood by the Road, hoping for her to turn back and return, yet in his heart, he knew she was too determined to do that. He watched till she was but a speck in the distance, before turning away. Rufas was still sitting by the road, mournful eyes trained onto it, as if waiting for his beloved mistress to come back. But they were both to wait in vain.

"Come on Rufas, we have to return."

The dog trained his brown eyes on the man, silently pleading to be able to wait, before finally understanding that she was not returning in the near future. He got up –tail between his legs, and his head drooped towards the ground –and followed his master home, stopping occasionally to look back at the Road.

But there was no figure in sight.

_Tbc…

* * *

_

Note:  
-Hidaer wanted her to travel at night as it provides cover for her, and prevents her from being seen, as the surrounding landscape is flat.

Another chapter down, and some more to go. Around ten or so I think. I don't think I'll be able to update so quickly soon though. School's restarting on the third of Jan, and I can only use the pc for a short time on weekends, so... And the story will get more interesting after this chapter, trust me.

For now though, Please help me Review! Thanks!

**Taelir: **Perhaps from having kill bill and resident evil marathons. grins nah. Seriously? I don't really remember…

**A girl named bob: **Thanks for the review! Um, where did you come up with that name? Just kidding! Glad you like this story.

**obsessedwithharrypotter: **Ah yes, Aragorn's sexy! At this moment, the muse says I don't kill him, but let's see what happens when I get to writing that chapter…

**lindahoyland:** Thanks for the (double) review! I don't think Kyelia's really concerned about causing another tragedy, she just wants revenge. I tried knocking some sense into her some days ago, but she wouldn't listen. sigh

**doggypal: **Hope you didn't lose your appetite after the prologue! : )


	4. 3: The Road is Long

Disclaimer: I only own those characters that I conjured up.

Thanks to all who reviewed. I really appreciate it!

And I apologise for taking so long to update… I'm really falling behind, schedule-wise and otherwise. I meant to update near the end of January, but the school had this adventure camp everyone had to go for… and it was basically five days away from civilisation. Help. This chapter is basically rather redundant, but the next one is better… I miscalculated the events…erps.

* * *

– Odium –  
Chapter Three 

It had been two days since she had left all that she had known behind, therefore effectively cutting off a part of herself that loved. There were times in the past days that she wanted to turn back, and walked back down whence she came. Hidaer would welcome her back with open arms, and Rufas likewise with a sloppy lick, she would return to life as usual in the village and all would forget she had ever left. She would be married, have children and…

No, it was not them who had made her go this far. Rather, it was her feminine pride, and her detest of failure that keep her feet walking northward.

The road was long and winding, a far cry from the line that represented it on those hastily –and rather crudely drawn maps –that Hidaer that somehow managed to obtain for her. The lines that been rather straight, with various curves here and there that roughly wound around the 'contours' of the landscape. It showed a nice, rather straight and easy road to Gondor, or Mordor. But what it failed to show were the numerous twists and turns, along with other obstacles which blocked the path. Of course, there were also times when she lost the path completely while doing a turn, thanks to the huge amount of grass that had conveniently decided to grow there. She would then curse softly under her breath, and wonder –for the umpteenth time –why she had been so eager to start that she had forgotten to bring the map, however inaccurate it was. At least it would help her when she passed the borders of Gondor.

Stopping for a while to rest, she checked her ever-declining rations. It seemed less than she had thought, then again, plans never did come out right do they? She looked irritatedly at her almost empty pack, as if glaring would make her sparse rations become more plentiful.

It seemed that she had but little food, some mouthfuls of water and a week or so more walking to do. Wonderful, just what she wanted.

-space-

The days passed with a little more vigour when she finally made her decision. And it was a pretty novel one, if she had to say so herself. It had taken her a while to find the village closest to the road, and even then it was a half-hour walk to it. But, her mind was not yet taken off the Road, for she worried that she would not be able to find it again.

She tried her best to find lodging, and perhaps some food with the occupants, which was not easy, considering they had yet to heal from the scars of the event twelve years before. Suspicious looks were abound as she walked amidst them, and the occasionally hostile movement towards her. They probably thought she was not one of them, that she knew. Her fair skin –well, fair for a Harad –set her apart from the brown-cherry skins of her fellow kinsmen, and that alone was enough to cause hostility.

Still, she 'prevailed' in the end, and managed to get a night's lodging with a farmer and family, the only condition being she help out with the chores. They were poor, as their race often was, Easterlings being the richer of the two kindreds, though sundered long ago. But once they managed to establish her identity somewhat and where she came from and that she was headed north for 'urgent business', they gladly took her in, partly since she was a fellow Haradrim, and never asked anything about the sword on her back.

The next day she had left the village with a completely full stomach, and a few coins in her pocket. Finding her way back to the road was simple, for her footprints were still partially visible in the dust on the dry ground, and so her journey was continued.

The routine went on for quite a while, and in every village she went into as she neared Gondor, scars still showed prominently. In some, the destroyed huts were left untouched, a remainder of that horrendous day. Their occupants had long been put to rest, but they were remembered with great reverence. Those she managed to speak to about it would break down into silent tears barely five minutes in the recount. Their shoulders heaving even as she tried her best to comfort them, the women would cry for their lost children –taken to sell or cruelly tortured to death for the soldiers' own interest. While the men would stop what they were doing and stare at her with blank eyes, telling her in silent voices not to bring it up again. What had happened to her village was considered mild compared to the humiliation they had suffered, and with a pang and wanted to know what had happened to her birthplace.

It was twelve full years since she went there, and vowed to herself never to go there again, or be reminded of all she had lost. But now, in these villages, as a dirty traveler seeking shelter, the past had hit her worse than a fist in her face, and to some extent reality had seeped through again. She was once again reminded of why she had even started this journey in the first place, for during the long walks her mind had unknowingly wandered off to the distant future, where everything was _perfect._

-space-

The news came late morning on the eighth day, just as she was about to leave. Whispers ran like wildfire throughout the village she was in, as women went about whispering to each other, fear evident in their eyes. The men tried their best to quench the rumors, hoping that it was not altogether true. She looked around, hoping to find someone that was not scurrying through and fro to ask about it, but to no avail. Those that she stopped were too frightened to answer anything but incoherent sentences and weird phrases, and she tried to make out a proper understanding of 'next village', 'taken', 'they…took…them' among some, feeling increasingly frustrated by the second.

But she need not have worried.

The wife of the family she was staying with came up to her, and took her deep breath, before laying the news upon her. As soon as she did that, Kyelia was hurried out of the door and to the Road, with some bread pressed into her palms. The family wished her good luck before hurrying off again, seeing to various matters to combat what was coming.

All Kyelia could do, however, was stand there, the small loaf of bread in her hands as she looked ahead. The road had decidedly become more daunting as soon as the words were uttered. She was not afraid, merely shocked, though it happened to occasions.

Her legs soon regained life and feeling, and she was off again, slowly, as the woman's last words rang through her mind.

"Fair skinned men have been sighted in the country," she had hissed. "As bad as the soldiers of the Past, but sowing another sort of terror."

_Tbc…_

* * *

Note: 

I'm making the thing about Easterlings and Harads being distantly related up… not really sure. Don't kill me!

The next update would probably be next week or something, seeing that I have five days of nothing but holiday.

Could you do me a favour? See that 'Review' button there? Just click on it and help review… it is much appreciated. Thanks!

**lindahoyland: **hey! Thanks so much for reviewing! Trust me, it's going to get better or at least I hope so… when she gets there.

**A girl named bob: **uh, yeah, the dog just popped up. Decided that since Hidaer missed his first dog so much, why not name another dog after the first? Some weirded theory of mine, excuse me…

**wene: **haven't decided whether to kill him. Yet.

**Turiel: **thanks! My ego just swelled up ten notches you know… heh. Can I have your shiny elven sword? Please?

**kitza: **thanks for the review! I don't think she's gonna waltz in and all that… the second idea sounds interesting… hm. Hopefully she'll recognize someone, when the time comes.

and to the person with the emoticon: yeah, i like wars


	5. 4: A Raid

Disclaimer: I only own those characters that I conjured up.

Thanks to all who reviewed. I really appreciate it!

Sorry that this is a few days late… blackjack does funny things to your mind. Heh. The x-es are spacings.

* * *

– Odium –  
Chapter Four

The words left a bitter taste in her mouth and refused to go away even as she banished them to the back of her mind. She did not understand what the woman was trying to tell her, but the words 'fair-skinned men' were enough to make her fear the worst.

What good could they do anyway?

She wondered what new terror they were sowing, something that driven the women in that village to scurry to and fro with fear in their eyes, and near-hysterical tears to well up in those fearful orbs. At least they had warning, as compared to what happened those years back. At least they had time to prepare for the inevitable.

Then, she wondered. If she were to find them, or vice versa, would she be able to defeat them? Or would she be taken?

Just like the others unfortunate enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Even as the words ran through her mind in a whirl, her hand unconsciously touched the hilt of her sword, strapped to her back as always.

Perhaps it would come of use even before she reached Gondor.

**xxxxx**

A man sat astride his horse, near the borders of Harad. He was dressed in the manner of the Haradrim, but he was far from one. Even from far, his skin –though tanned –gave him away. He lacked the necessary 'aura' to count for a Haradrim, and the unreal darkness of his skin was definitely not inherited in birth… but rather through long hours under the sun. The Harads knew that he was not one of them, and he knew that fact.

And delighted in it.

How often had he and his men walked casually into some random village, on pretense of being weary travellers and fellow kinsmen? The villagers were usually noticed after a while, followed by the usual cry of despair. Sure, he had heard of that shocking massacre those years ago, but sometimes the reaction to them was still surprising.

Of course, nothing a couple of sword moves and threats would not stop.

Compared to what happened the last time, this time they had a better motive for senseless taking: money. The gold that could be earned from the trade was astonishing, and even as the King was trying his best to prevent the healthy black-market of sorts, he still had not hit the epicenter, yet.

Which suited him just fine.

The longer they took to crack down upon the trade, the more money he earned.

All the better for him.

The next raid would probably start soon. And since their cover had been broken, well, they could basically just following the age-old method of raiding: smash, and grab. The need for more children have risen, and the price along with it. Perhaps today would be good for them. But still….

_That _season was coming soon, but he had not even found one worthy to represent him. He would surely be humiliated all over for that single oversight. But no matter. There was still some time to kill, or rather, four hours to kill before the raid that evening. Perhaps he and his men could scout around and look for someone, _anyone_. Silently, he tsk-ed to himself, almost giving himself a mental reprimanding.

Was he getting so desperate that he had to merely take anyone? That was but a childish silly old tradition that had went on long before the war of the ring. One that took place in the slums of the city, where hardly anyone who wanted to live ventured in there.

Sure, he was a crook, no doubt about it. But still, would he even _want _to join in this?

All the same, the answer was 'yes'. A resounding 'yes' that echoed in his mind, over and over, no matter how many times he questioned himself.

Exhaling softly, he made up his mind: he would gather his men and –

"Braegon!"

Irritated, he turned around to find one of his newest 'recruits' looking at him. The poor lad had only wanted to earn some money to care for his parents and had barely come to age. Now, as he stared at the boy, the boy was shaking so hard that a leaf in a strong wind would shake even less, perhaps imagining his death in this remote place.

"Sorry, sir… I mean Captain."

Satisfied with the apology of sorts, he started to question the lad. He could have been saved the trouble though, for the boy immediately blabbered out whatever message that he had been sent to say.

"Oneofthemenhavesightedalonepersoninthedistanceandsuggestedyoucomesee."

The boy stopped, for breath and for the fact that his message was complete. Silently, he waited to be dismissed, but the 'captain' was still trying to figure out what he had just uttered. He hated to be the messenger boy, but had to face it for he was the newest, and youngest. In the past week, he had since gotten used to their way of speaking, and various threats in their voices. As much as they knew how to boast and brag about their riches, they too knew how to make good on their threats. Besides, if he had delivered the wrong message, he would be beaten… all the better to string the words together and let them make their own inferences.

Calling the captain by his name was probably the first folly he had made, and he knew there were more to come soon. But he was in a hurry! And the men… they looked so bloodthirsty that he was –seriously speaking –a tad frightened.

"Where?"

_What?_ the boy silently thought to himself. Where _what_?

Oh, right. The captain wanted to know where the person was. Sincerely, he did not really envy the person, whoever he or she was, more so if it was a she.

"It's over –"

"Bring me there."

Silently, he nodded. No use angering the big boss so early: he still loved his head. He waited for Braegon to get off his horse, and gave a small wince as it whinnied at the sudden movement. He never really liked horses, unlike their Rohirric counterparts. To him, they were just beasts of burden, and he shuddered to actually ride one.

**xxxxx**

Braegon squinted at the figure in the distance. The person was perhaps a half a league or so from wherever they were, distance that would be eaten up by the horses' hungry hoofs in no time at all. Besides, he –assuming it was a he –seemed to be carrying something on his back. A message? A weapon? Or something else entirely? They would find out soon, that was, if they went. And maybe, he would have finally found someone to 'represent' them.

"Men! Take your horses! We're going to find out what he is doing walking alone."

**xxxxx**

She actually heard them, or rather, _felt_ them, before they came into view. Who could not? The ground was trembling so hard she could have sworn it was going to split.

Then came the sound of horses' hoofs. She had a phobia of them since that fateful day, and hearing them so loudly and clearly again… She hardly minded one or two horses, but judging from that noise, it was a dozen or more coming her way. The sound was slowly amplified in her ears, growing steadily louder as the same sound from a distant memory joined it. They were merging together as one harmonious deafening sound, pulsating even as she stopped and tried to shut them out. But it was too strong.

Then it stopped.

And silence surrounded her.

_It's very unlikely that they would have passed me by, unless…_

A harsh laugh broke the deafening silence, even as the dust slowly settled back to the ground, as Kyelia resisted the urge to groan aloud. Whatever happened to stealth? For a single moment, she allowed herself to wonder what would happen to her if she had prevented the memories from engulfing her. Perhaps, she would be 'safe and sound' by then, and gotten past the Gondorians.

Instead, she had to be walking right into their path.

She slowly looked up from her vantage-point of the various horse hoofs –sixty-four altogether –which were almost all the same, though some look like their shoes had not been changed since they were broken in. Squinting into the flaming afternoon sun, she tried to make out the faces of the men upon the horses. Almost all were dark-haired, with perhaps one or two minor exceptions. They were Gondorians, no matter what shade of brown their skin was in, she knew that as well she as knew herself. The Haradrim were not wont to look like _them_ after months, or even years under the desert sun.

The harsh laughter still continued, even as she tried to pinpoint her source. There was not much need though, for in the next few moments, a man from the back started pushing forward to her. His cheeks were ruddy from the heat, and perhaps from the excitement. Jumping to the ground, he sauntered forward with a cocky swagger, ignoring the cautionary look of other man, who looked like the leader. Well, if this man was to get a punishment of some kind from him later, did she have to fear anything?

"Captain," the man started, his breath reeking of cheap wine and his tone laced with minor disrespect and contempt. "Look! We have cornered _her_, without even using a single arrow! I never knew Harads surrender so freely… but I do not think we have ever met a woman in battle before have we?"

Laughter again. She could feel them laughing all around her, laughing _at_ her, laughing at her people, not to mention having a severe disrespect for women, especially those of the Harad variety.

They wanted a fight did they not? To use their arrows and their swords, and to show off their battle prowess? She would give them something to remember.

By the end of the fight, they would perhaps have more respect for women.

Faster than the eye could follow, she unsheathed her sword and decapitated the man. His head fell with a resounding _THUMP!_ on the thirsty ground, which, after raising a cloud of shallow dust, proceeded to absorb his blood. His body soon followed, falling forward lifelessly, even as the fingers on his hand clenched involuntarily for the last time. There was a cracking sound as the legs hit the ground as awkward angles. Horses nervously took several steps back to avoid stepping on the rapidly flowing bright-red blood, even as their riders tried to calm them down, all the while trying to comprehend the motive for their comrade's death. To them, all he had done was gloat to their not-so-helpless captive.

The man had mocked her.

Pity though, she will never be able to know his name.

Feeling rather fearless, she held her sword in front of her, slowly surveying the men mirrored on it.

"Who wants to be next?"

**xxxxx**

It was not really turning out to be one skirmish that she wanted. What she wanted was to be against those Gondorian men who had sacked her village so long ago, or the Guards of the White City. But no, she was now against slave traders who had nothing to lose, and never did play by the book. The only similarity they had were that they were Gondorians, and that was enough reason to kill them.

While obvious that some had military training, the others seemed to reckon that running with their blade in front of them and screaming their lungs out were enough to scare her. Sadly, they did not stay long to play. A small cut to their arm would send them running out of the 'battlefield', clutching the wound as if it was a mortal one, the small trickle of blood turned into a gushing flow in their imagination.

Wonders never cease.

The rest who could fight however, were play dirty, and gang up on her three-on-one. Maybe it was a military tactic, which could explain why they always won: by sharing the work. In short, they were basically incapable of most defence or attack on their own. She was constantly amused by the happy glint in their eyes whenever they managed to outwit her, and the sardonic grin when she had a small cut on her arm, one that they had inflicted. Of course, to her, they were but a trifle; to them, it came with bragging rights.

But something was nagging at her to follow them, and not fight them, which set off a debate in her already overloaded mind..

_They are from Gondor, you know._

_So?_

_You want to go to Gondor don't you?_

_And?_

_They will be able to get you there. They have to return sometime._

_Yeah? How do you know they would not kill me first chance they get?_

_Didn't you hear that man speak? They obviously set a target: you._

_Therefore?_

_Surrender! Go with them! Get to Gondor! And complete your task!_

_Easier said than done._

_Trust me._

Well, her gut instinct usually proved her right, especially whenever she sparred with Hidaer, and he would pretend to surrender before attacking her again. Perhaps she would heed it again. After all, the men will indeed have to return to some part of Gondor sooner or later.

Swiftly extricating herself from the group of six or more that still remained, she sheathed her sword and held up her hands, the white of her palms clearly showing. They stopped advancing straightaway, and looked uneasily among themselves. Finally, the man she assumed their captain spoke.

"Why are you surrendering now?"

"Because I have no wish to kill anymore of you." Which was obviously a lie, a white lie at that though. Titters were heard around, and a mutter of 'if you could', which were quickly silenced.

"Kneel down, hands on the ground. Now!"

Grimacing, she complied. Who knew that they were so demanding? She heard his footsteps coming closer towards her, and braced herself for the haul and the eventual tie-up. What she did not expect though, was how wrong she was.

"No!"

She whipped her head around, just in time to see the anguished face of one of the men. His blade was held out towards her, the flat of it pointing at her head.

"She does not deserve to live!"

Then the sword hit her head, and she saw the world in a blur of colors. Lurching forward, she fell to the ground, half hearing the clang of steel upon steel, half feeling the cold metal of the Gondorian sword on her hand… and the argument that ensued over her.

Then darkness closed in, and she was sucked into its whirlpool.

_Tbc…

* * *

_

Note:

-The fight scene was rather short cause I was sort of rushing this since it was already late, so I did not really describe it that well. Sorry!  
-The part where she sees the men mirrored onto the sword… I copied that part from kill bill for a bit… sort of for better imagery and stuff. Yeah.

Please Review! Many Thanks!

Next update would be around next month or so…. Earlier if I can help it.

**lindahoyland: **thanks for so faithfully reading my stories and reviewing, and for the encouragement! I really appreciate it!

**a girl named bob: **is it updated soon enough? I hope so. And hopefully this chapter is long enough too… right? grins I had a partial writer's block last chapter… therefore I didn't really write much. My apologies.

**mello:** hello! Thanks for reviewing, dear. I can't really bear to kill Aragorn, but I have to do what I have to do. That sounds so democratic, urgh. Have fun during lent!

**turiel:** sorry! Cannot post more than one chappie at a time… you know schoolwork and all right? Anyway… here's the next chapter!


	6. 5: Filrah

Disclaimer: I only own those characters that I conjured up.

Thanks to all who reviewed. I really appreciate it!

Since I having holidays for the next two weeks, I'll be trying to write as many chapters as possible. (:  
It has only been about twelve days or so since she started on her journey.

* * *

– Odium –  
Chapter Five 

_She was but faintly aware of floating lightly in unending darkness, impervious to time and space, and silent. It seemed that her eyes were open, but even if they were shut, she would not know. Either way, the darkness remained the same._

_Am I dead?_

_But she already knew the answer to her unsaid question. No, she was not dead. She was somewhere within nowhere, waiting to return to reality, perhaps. Then, it seemed that she knew she wasn't really seeing anything, and struggled to open her eyes. The effort was Herculean, and each time she tried, the darkness got lighter…_

Her eyes slowly flickered open. The overwhelming darkness she had experienced not too long ago was slowly fading, leaving random dark spots of colour hovering in front of her eyes. As her body regained feeling again, she felt the cold hard ground beneath her, sucking out the breath in her lungs, as though she just been recently dumped there, rather unceremoniously as it may seem.

Curiousity killed the cat, and she was tired at staring at the reliable boring blueness of the sky, along with the clouds. Which incidentally did not happen to match her mood. Really, she thought, a darkened sky would have been better to sympathise with. She tried to turn her head to the side, but instead of complying, her head replied with a wave of dizziness that made her want to shut her eyes and return to _that_ space. She fought it till it went away, then tried again. Dizziness regained its rule for the moment, but it was weaker, and less powerful. Bringing her hands to massage her temples, she was surprised to find her head bandaged rather crudely.

_Wha-?_

Then the memories returned. The band of fair-skinned men, the raiders, the fight, along with the none-too-glorious memory of the sword hitting her head. She winced, and tentatively touched her sore spot. The men would have definitely brought her to their 'lair', which meant they could not be far away. She would have to escape before anyone missed her.

Trying to ignore the rather mild throbbing pain in her head, she tried to get up. Suffice to say, she was barely a full two inches up when she had to lie back down onto the small sandbag that was her 'pillow', sincerely cursing her head and the man who had hit her. So much for 'quickly and painlessly'. Taking a deep breath, she readied herself to try again.

"I'd rather you not, you know. That was a rather bad knock to the head if I might comment."

A face moved into her line of sight. It was a young face, belonging to a youth no more than sixteen, four years younger than she was. A pang hit her heart as she was reminded of her age. She was not supposed to do this. She could have still stayed in the Harad, with Hidaer and Rufas, and try to fit in with the rest of the females there. She could follow the customs, but she chose this. And now, this scrub-faced boy was looking at her rather intently, as if considering her situation. He deserved to live out his youth, and not actually get embroiled in this mess, and with the raiders, though she doubted he had much choice.

Opening her mouth, she tried to get some words out in order to converse with him, but the words would not come, and neither would her voice. Seeing her obvious difficulty in speaking, the boy decided to take the initiative.

"All right, how's this? I will talk, and you will listen," his voice then quickly lowered to that of an almost conspiratorial whisper. "You are currently in our lair, somewhere in South Ithillen, that's in Gondor by the way. And I know you are trying to escape. I don't blame you either. Except that… well, just say the exit is guarded by men, and then some, and you will probably be unable to get past them."

Kyelia then finally found her voice.

"I can fight."

"I know you can. You weren't brought in with a sword and a bow with a quiver and no arrow strapped to you for no reason. But, I too do know that Braegon –that's the captain –has taken them away and kept them. And no, I have no reason to exactly fear for your safety at this point in time. You know the man who hit you?"

The boy broke off, and silence reigned for a moment as he waited for her to answer.

"Somewhat."

Apparently satisfied, he continued, "well, let's just say that the Captain is not too pleased about the fact that that man hit you with the sword. I have reason to think that does not happen often, seeing their respect, or lack thereof, for anyone that happens to bat eyelashes coyly."

"I do not!"

"That was just a figure of speech, all right? Anyway, as I was saying, _that_ man who hit you? He got a severe tongue lashing from Braegon, and is currently skulking in one of the room here. Locked up that is. Word's around that as soon as you get better, you will be allowed to give him a taste of his own medicine, but I am not sure yet."

"Which leads to?"

"Which leads to the fact that –haven't you figured out yet? Braegon has something to do with you, and I don't think it's in _that_ context, so get the horror out of your eyes. The past few days –well, two days and a half days to be exact –he has been muttering under his breath to no one in particular and is asking me on your condition every hour or so. There's this big thing that's coming up among the people in the 'underworld', and he probably needs you for that. So cheer up and be happy."

"One more question: what is your name? And what are you doing here at your age? You're barely a score of years!"

"Filrah is my name. As for my intentions… well, I want to earn some money to care for my parents. They are getting rather sick. But at least that was what I told them anyway," he shrugged.

Intrigued, she could not help but ask, "what do you mean 'that was what you told them'?"

Filrah looked unsure of himself for a moment, as emotions crossed his face. Inside, he was wondering whether to tell her or not, to divulge his secret, which will definitely cost him his life. But she seemed nice enough, and besides, people near the same age do sympathise with the other better, did they not? The girl did not seem to take much of a liking to the raiders, or –he strongly suspected –any Gondorian. What would she be doing alone, and walking in direction of Gondor with weapons? Conscience battled with gut-feeling before he finally made his decision.

He would tell her, perhaps she might be able to help.

The boy started to speak, but instead, Braegon's voice boomed from the entrance into the small room.

"BOY! How is she feeling? Has she woken up yet?"

Quickly looking at the girl, an unspoken message passed through them. Turning to the Captain, he schooled his face into a tired mask and shook his head 'no'.

Kyelia's lids descended as she propelled herself into sleep.

**xxxxx**

It was near dusk, and already the fiery orb was making its way behind the mountains. All around the men were drinking themselves drunk, slurred voices shouting for "one more!" and the muffled thumps as heads hit the table-tops, their owners going into a beer-induced swoon.

Filrah had seen the similar in the past week or so that he was in the company of these men. It was the same episode everyday. The men, instead of taking a proper meal, would indulge in beer, sometimes way before the sun had set, in the tavern that they frequented, not far from their 'lair'.

The tavern, like them, was part of the Gondorian underworld that many knew of and heard of, but did not really care beyond that. The Steward took it upon himself to conduct random raids as and when he thought it fit, but there always seemed to be an informer around to foil the plans.

As it was, the lad found himself wondering about the girl that they had brought in, currently under the care of two of their men. Suffice to say, those two were not exactly thrilled at the prospect of staying squat for more than two hours while the rest had their fun. But even in their world, there still had to be a semblance of order, and rule.

He had forgotten to ask her name, silently berating himself for it. It could be crucial anyhow. Sitting in a dank corner of the tavern, and trying to be invisible lest he be called to help some man, he wondered.

_Was it possible to go now?_

Glancing around, he saw no reason not to. The men were either gulping down their drinks in various drinking contests or lying prone on the floor, where they would be hauled up from in an hour or two –depending on when the flow of drinks ended –and brought back to the lair. Braegon –_'captain!' _he corrected himself quickly –was probably too involved in that lass that he was with, and he would probably be able to escape the notice of the otherwise sharp-eyed man. With luck, he would be able to return with anyone noticing.

Slowly getting up, and keeping in mind to stay in the shadows, he slowly made his way out, wondering why he did not choose a spot closer, much closer to the exit.

_What folly!_

"What are you doing?"

Filrah stopped in his tracks, feeling as though he was in an enclosed space –one that was swiftly getting smaller. Later, looking back on the incident, he probably had to thank that lass the most.

"Come on Captain," she purred demurely, something seemingly at odds with the fact that she was sitting right in his lap. "Let's not let him interfere."

The boy resisted the urge to balk. Why could not the Steward target _these_ things instead of them and the fellow raiders? But still, he had to admit Braegon was rather taken in by her comment, and distracted by it –at least long enough for him to formulate a plausible answer.

"Well… captain. It's just th-h-at I promised… to meet my f-folks" –he gulped –"every week. It has been, um, longer than that… already. Could I –withyourleaveofcourse –go and find them? I willonlytakeawhile!" fear took over at last as he blurted out the last few words.

Then he stood there, amidst all the noise –which seemed to fade away as soon as he had gotten into this mess. But it did seem that their seemingly fearless leader did have a weakness after all. He watched as Braegon –besotted by the lass –waved a careless hand at him. It meant 'get going'.

Quickly, before the captain's mind could be changed, he hurried out of the tavern. It was still rather warm out despite it being night. After all, summer was naught but a couple of week away. The streets at this time were as usual, terribly lonely and dark. People were either in taverns, or safe in their homes. Filrah tried to stay out of sight as best as he could, huddling close to the shadows and trying to meld in with them. Unsavoury characters were abound around this area no matter what, and even after eleven days in the vicinity, he could never get used to it.

It took him almost ten minutes to get out of that area, and into the 'light' again. There he hurried along, that quite unexpected crop-up had shaved off some precious time, and he was almost late.

_They would not be pleased._

He passed his parents' house. No, it was not to their house he wanted to go.

He had another purpose in mind.

_Tbc…_

* * *

Note:  
Kyelia will return to 'central character' role in the next chapters, though the boy does serve a purpose….  
I'll try to get the next chapter up asap. It may be quite short though. Bear with me. (: 

Please help me review! hugs

**lindahoyland:** she will learn more about Gondorians… but not yet. And she survives! grins

**a girl named bob:** hopefully this is soon enough? I'm really getting backwards in my schedule. Plans never come out right do they?

**Arami:** thanks for the review! And yeah, she reached Gondor… but she not going to do anything just yet, sadly.

**Mysterious Jedi:** thanks for reviewing! As for what Aragorn would do… it's somewhere in the later chapters! smiles


	7. 6: An Underground Deal

Disclaimer: I only own those characters that I conjured up.

Thanks to all who reviewed!

As usual, the '**xxxxx**'are spaces.

* * *

– Odium –  
Chapter Six

(3 days later)

Filrah hurried along in the ruin of the building that Braegon had proudly called their 'lair'. It was a letdown to be sure, but the Captain had always painted it as a majestic place, almost like a palace of sorts. And everyone, anyone who saw the real McCoy was bound to feel his expectations lower dramatically. Sure, the building was majestic. Or used to be anyway. It had probably served some higher purpose than that of 'hideout' for raiders like them long before the war had started.

The corridors were littered with the captain's men: many of them still in the throes of sleep, oblivious expressions on their faces, having remotely survived drinking gallons of beer the night before. The others who were awake, however, looked a bit worse for wear, having gotten a hangover from that excessive drinking. They stumbled about on the corridors, clutching the walls for some semblance of support. That method helped them, though Filrah could not help stifling a laugh each time their hands met air and they tumbled into another room. Of which a second later there would be none-too-pleasant shouts, and the man would stumble out, looking even worse than before.

He could have stayed and watched, and laugh himself hoarse. But that was a bad idea in itself, since one, he had an errand to run, and two, it would not bode well for his well being. With those thoughts in mind, he quickly went along, carefully skirting the drunken men, before arriving in front of one of the few wooden doors in the lair. Without thinking, he pushed it open and stepped in. The room was dark, save for a small square of sunlight coming through the window, if it could be called that.

"Hello?" he shouted, looking around for some sign of life, or tampering.

Perhaps she had –

A derisive snort broke his chain of thoughts, even as he wondered how to account for her disappearance. As he looked towards the sound, she stepped up from the room's darkest corner.

"You know, back where I came from, we used to knock before we entered. But I'm guessing that that's not the custom here."

Filrah stuttered, not knowing how to answer that remark. Not that it really mattered, for Kyelia just continued speaking.

"In case you are wondering, a drunk comrade of yours stumbled in yesterday. Mind you, I don't really like to be interrupted in my sleep."

"You didn't kill him. Did you?" he asked cautiously.

"You don't see any dead bodies here do you? Anyway, I just sent him on his way" –Filrah heaved a sigh of unspoken relief –"he just will remember not to stumble without invitation into another's room again. That's all."

It was all the lad could do not to groan. Not that he blamed her though. If he could remotely even fight, he would also prevent those 'comrades' of his from entering his room in their drunken stupor.

"So I'm guessing you are feeling better," he remarked dryly.

"And I'm guessing you did not just barge in here to exchange pleasantries."

There was a slight pause before she continued.

"What does he want now anyway?"

**xxxxx**

Braegon paced around in the main room. It had been fifteen minutes since he sent the boy on his way, and he had not returned yet. Was the girl missing? Or perhaps something had happened to him on his way? Could the girl have forced him to help her escape? Maybe–

"Captain," he heard one of his men speak. "They are here."

A flick of his hand and the girl was led in while the boy was dismissed.

Another flick and his men left him alone with the girl, closing the door behind them.

"Come here."

The girl looked properly terrified, and reluctantly took a few steps forward. Satisfied, Braegon sat in his chair –and the only one in the room –and looked at her. The girl seemed strong enough, and one of those that would not go down without a fight. He liked that attribute in his fighters, and after that, 'will' and 'determination' were an added bonus.

"You can fight."

Kyelia stared at the man. That seemed phrased to be more of a solid statement than a tentative question, and how did one answer something like that? But apparently her silence was more than enough reply to the well-built man in front of her.

"Well enough. Do you suppose we can make a trade, just between the two of us?"

She was immediately cautious. Considering these people and what they did for a living, she highly doubted the 'trade' would benefit her, not would be it even somewhat legal.

"What kind?"

She watched as the man leaned back in his chair, and began giving her a long-winded speech on some 'game' that the underground had every year, one that involved trained fighters, representing the various 'groups'. She heard as he skirted any detail of death, gore and disembowelment, going on about the 'honor' of it all and the main motivator of it all: gold. It was interesting definitely, and amusing to listen to him recount his days as one of them. However, she had no idea how could this be linked to a 'trade' of sorts. More like making use of the other side, perhaps.

Half an hour had passed before Braegon stopped and looked at her expectantly, while she looked back blankly. He expected an answer of sorts, and she had no idea how to answer.

"You want _me _to fight for _you_?" she finally forced out, narrowing her eyes at Braegon. "What kind of trade is _that_?"

"Well," he exhaled. "You will be fighting for _us_, meaning representing the raiders in this lair. As for the trade, I was, well, I was getting to that. You see, whenever a fighter wins a round, the party will get all of what the losing party had betted on their fighters, including half of the on-lookers makings. As you can do the sums, it added up profitably. As long as you keep winning for us, and we get money, we will treat you like one of us–"

"How lucrative."

"That's not all, you know. As I was saying, if you keep helping us win, at the end of it all, I will let you go, and pretend that you were never with us. Then we go on with life as normal, and you go on your way to wherever you are headed to. How does that sound?"

"You left out the part detailing what happens if I die."

"And that will happen as soon as the sky breaks asunder upon us. You _did_ dispatch more than half my company of men those days ago. In less than eight minutes I must add. Though I often wonder why you didn't kill the rest of us."

A corner of her mouth curled into a smirk, "well, then the real underworld would be a little too crowded, would it not?"

"Charming," Braegon uttered, then speaking in a louder tone, he continued, "so we have a deal?"

"When does it start?"

"Tonight."

**xxxxx**

Kyelia stared at the blank walls of her room. The talk with the captain had mentally drained her, and she was not completely healed yet. Reaching up, she softly prodded the injured area on her head, wincing as it throbbed and gave out random stabs of pain. Compared to the pain in the morning, this was considered an improvement, no matter how little. At least when she got knocked on her head tonight, she would still be able to continue, which she hoped was a good sign.

Although she had no idea how to fight without her weapons, or rather, all but one of her weapons, she thought, fingering the Gondorian short sword in her hand. The Captain probably trusted people quite easily, considering he never gave thought as to the fact that she could kill him in a flash if she even wanted. But a deal was a deal, and even those in dirty dealings like them would hold to such a thing, wouldn't they?

_If only I even remembered to ask him about my weapons! _

_If I could just have them with me...now._

As if in answer to her thoughts, a knock sounded on her door. A second later, it was flung wide open and Filrah stepped in, dragging a huge brown sack of _something_: a _something_ that was struggling and moaning at the same time. He had a triumphant grin on his face, even as he looked at her proudly.

"Care to share in the secret?"

"Remember that I told you about the man who was given a tongue-lashing for hitting you?"

"I may have lost my freedom, but not my mind."

Filrah ignored that remark. "Anyway, as I told you, Captain's going to let you give him a taste of his medicine. In short, do whatever you want to him. Just do not kill him: Captain still has some other use for him. Oh, and once you have finished with him, you can have your weapons back."

"This is definitely the first time I am to beat someone up to get something."

**xxxxx**

Her sword lay in front of her in surprisingly good condition. Someone had taken care to wipe the blood –that would otherwise stain it –off it, and polish it. There was not a hint of dust on it at all, despite it spending five days somewhere –probably in some dark, dank room. Even her quiver was cleared of any desert dust etc that was gathered on her trip here. It was half-filled with arrows that looked somewhat –and most probably so –Gondorian, which made her reckon that it was a no-holds-barred fight for survival.

The return of her weapons, and even her pack did not come cheaply though. After a while of plummeting the pitiful man, her fists –though wrapped in tough leather –had started to hurt, and she decided that it was enough for both the man and her. However, a guard that Braegon sent was apparently still not satisfied.

As it was, the underground meaning of "do not kill him" was another way of saying "beat him still he is only hanging by a thread, and less than an inch from death". Which was indeed disturbing, since the fight rules also stipulated that for the first two rounds, one was "not to kill the opponent". If that was so, that meant she would not be able to win that round till her opponent was "an inch from death"?

If so, that would be difficulty in itself.

**xxxxx**

The tavern where it was held had a tad more taste than the other one, and many times cleaner, although she highly doubted it would be that way after the fights. Braegon and Filrah were with her, along with some other raiders.

She had eavesdropped upon the conversation that Braegon had with his men about her. They had been adamant that a _female_ was to represent them. Could they not find a fighter of the male species? An argument had rose quickly and fiercely, only quenched when Braegon had asked one of them to volunteer himself. As usual, they were all talk and no action, and no one stood up, so as default, they had to go with her.

The fighters were disallowed from watching the other fights, and all had to stay in the back, anxiously waiting for their round. Kyelia was worried. She had seen winners and losers alike come back equally bloodstained and inches from death. The only difference was that one was standing and the other was unconscious, some almost at the point of no return.

As Braegon excused himself to get some drinks, Filrah turned to her, worry in his eyes. They had become friends in the past few days, and though he had not seen a proper fight yet, he knew of the consequences. She heard as the lad tried to persuade her to withdraw, and when she had declined, insisting that she would be fine, had wished her well with some resignation before returning to his drink.

Braegon soon came back, excitement clear in his eyes as he told her the details of the just-concluded match. Bloodlust was in his eyes, as it was in the audiences that randomly came out to get their money from dealers. It seemed that for nights like these, beer and girls were out of the agenda, as if they had not existed. Instead, it was the violence of it all that kept them awake.

"Captain! It's her turn!"

Kyelia looked around blankly as she was hauled to her feet. Butterflies flew in her stomach, and she faintly wondered why she was feeling so giddy. She was led into the tavern, where the crowd burst into cheers at the sight of her. She saw money, changing hands as bets were made anew, and she faintly heard Braegon whispering tips in her ear, catching only parts of it.

"They always play dirty-"

"Look out… surprises"

"Do not kill"

"-No rules for now"

She nodded her head absently, fingering her sword on her back, and feeling the other sword inside the lining of her boot. Her opponent was already on the platform waiting for her, and looking at the platform, she swallowed nervously. It was roughly rectangular and huge, but it was not enough for maneuvering properly, which explained the blood and cuts on the other fighters.

Taking a deep breath, and climbed onto the platform, her head but half-a-meter below the ceiling. Turning around, she surveyed the crowd, seeing only but bloodlust and more bloodlust reflected in those orbs of theirs. Their mouths open and closed as they chanted "kill, kill" as one. It was almost impossible to breathe in that space, and the heat was rolling off everyone in beads of sweat.

Finally, she brought her eyes to the barmaid taking charge of the match. Her lips were pursed as she glanced around, and held her hands up for silence. She grinned when she was satisfied, ringing to the huge bell beside her.

The match had started.

_Tbc…_

* * *

YAY! Another chapter done! The next chapter's half done, and I'm gonna try to finish that asap since I'm really really running behind and I don't really like it.

Please Review! I'll give you a hug!

**Mysterious Jedi: **Just say the boy is not doing anything illegal... (:

**LoTRwriter27: **I hope this update is soon enough... though I don't think so. Your fic is really interesting! Do update soon too!

**lindahoyland:** Thanks for reviewing! Must say, I'm enjoying your fics too!

**wene: **Not sure whether I will kill Aragorn or not... that depends on Kyelia's skill. Heh. And 'gay' can also mean 'happy'!

**Turiel: **Hey there! Glad to know you're enjoying my story! grins

**melo: **Slaying not in this chapter sadly, but in the next. And this is chapter 7! Aragorn-slaying... smirk Guess you have to wait, don't you...


	8. 7: Fight!

Disclaimer: I only own those characters that I conjured up.

Thanks to all who reviewed! Since I haven't updated in a while, I have posted two chapters written while on a writing spree. Enjoy!

The words in italics are her thoughts.

* * *

– Odium –  
Chapter Seven

Almost immediately the audience started chanting again. The sound deafening and distracting to Kyelia's ears. Immediately, she tuned out the sound till there was but silence; the audience faded out of sight till she could only see her opponent and the platform.

Slowly, she surveyed her opponent, and sized him up, waiting for him to make the first move. From there, she would be able to find his weakness and his strengths. From there she would be able to fight as she always did.

The opponent unsheathed his twin knives –both rusty and equally bloodstained –and twirled them around, assuming that she would be scared by that display. With another blood-curdling yell, he rushed towards her, brandishing the knives so that the points were aimed towards her heart.

_Clever, but how foolish._

With two steps she was out of his way, and due to his momentum, he was unable to turn around quickly enough, almost risking falling off the platform. Not that it mattered. If he fell off, he could easily get back up. He still caught himself in time though, and moved to face her, even as she unsheathed her sword from her back. And they faced each other from opposite ends of the table.

The crowd was cheering louder by the minute, Filrah thought as he looked around none-too-appreciatively. As much as he hated to see these random fights, along with the _blood_, he _had _to. The men were as perceptive as the nearest Ranger, and they were able to call his bluff anytime soon if they suspected something out of ordinary.

He watched as Kyelia's opponent made another clumsy pass, only to miss… not for the first time, and neither for the last. She was obviously playing with him like a predator and its prey, and being the big oaf he was, he never noticed it.

This round would be over in no time, he thought.

Grinning, Filrah took a sip of his drink, forgetting that it was beer. Which generally led to some measure of spluttering and coughing as he choked down the bitter taste. A few of his fellow raiders stared at him curiously, even as he tried to formulate a possible response.

"Went down… thewrongway," he finally forced out, smiling weakly.

They accepted it normally enough. And the lad breathed a sign of relief.

This incident went unnoticed by Kyelia, as did many others. Instead, her whole mind was focused on her opponent. Granted, she could have easily finish him off without even wasting a quarter of her strength. But Hidaer had told her never to underestimate her opponents; even this guy had to have some tricks up his sleeve.

But as she was about to find out, what she had thought about his capabilities were rather underestimated.

He was still facing her, dripping with sweat and panting at the exertion of trying to catch her off-guard. She, on the other hand was barely riled up, utterly relaxed, and not really in a hurry to finish him off.

_Let him run a few more rounds, he will be almost dying of exhaustion by then!_

Grinning inwardly, she mentally congratulated herself. The fight had been over before it even started. And her sword was not even brought properly into the fore yet! Her hand still clutched it, but the hilt was loose in her grip, and it hung down, not exactly intimidating, not really threatening either. Which was how she would like it.

In that brief pause of time that he had allowed her, she allowed herself to take in her surroundings again. Now that the fight was midway, the crowd seemed to have gotten more bloodthirsty. She heard the nonstop clinking, clanking of coins being exchanged between betters, the thumping of feet on the cheap wooden floor of the tavern, and the horrendous cacophony of voices that all boiled up to a single word:

_Kill._

Whether it was directed to him or her, she knew not, nor did the crowd rather care either, all they wanted was for one of them to get horribly injured and to win their bet back.

So caught up in the myriad of voices and sounds that filled and overwhelmed her eardrums, that her eyes almost missed movement from her opponent as he slowly made his way towards her. Concentrating just in time, she managed to lift her arm just in time to block his move. As her grip on the hilt was loose, it barely held against his brute strength, although agility played a part as she quickly roll away from his rusty blades, ending up facing his back.

Filrah sat absorbed in the fight. It was just getting interesting. Little did he notice Braegon coming to stand beside him till he heard the captain mutter under his breath, "At this rate, we'll be here till morning."

Startled, the boy turned to his side and smiled weakly, shrugging his shoulders. If he knew Kyelia, she would as happily kill him as let him think he was stringing her along.

But still, the fight was longer than normal, though for a good reason. By thinking he could catch her off-guard, she had probably dealt him a vote of confidence, and therefore he was more likely to be defeated.

"Don't worry, Captain. I have a feeling it will be over in no time," he replied, turning back to the match, and pretending not to notice the curious expression on Braegon's face.

A few more dodges and passes later, she was seriously getting tired of running around the small platform. The scenery had barely changed! But as it seemed, her 'weak' blows and blocks had gave him a huge amount of confidence.

_And probably boosted his ego too._

Which was fine by her, she thought, parrying another whack. She was near the edge of the platform now, that she knew without seeing, and he was coming towards her with an evil sneer on his face… which she would be happy to wipe off in the very near future by –

That thought was cut off when she felt something cut into the leather of her boot, metal struck metal as it hit the knife hidden inside. Surprised, she whipped around, the sharp _something_ cutting through her leather as she did, and taking some skin along with it. A dirty, unshaven man stood on the floor before her, the incriminating evidence of a small pocket-knife held in his hands.

Around her, the audience erupted into a chorus of cheers and 'boos!' the sound deafening her as she strained to hear what the man was speaking.

His mouth opened and closed to form words, and the words were then replaced by a smile not unlike that on the opponent's face. She looked up for a moment, and when she looked down to find the man again, it seemed that he had disappeared.

_What did he say?_

Deciding that that could be left till later, she turned back to face her opponent again, trying to ignore the growing pain in her calf -thewound seemed more serious than she would have thought…

… and found a pair of blades pressed against her throat. Along with the realisation of what the man had said.

He had said, "Behind you."

_Tbc…_

* * *

Review! Thanks!


	9. 8: Aftermath

Disclaimer: I only own those characters that I conjured up.

Another chapter! Enjoy!

The words in italics are her thoughts.

* * *

– Odium –  
Chapter Eight

Silently, she cursed herself for being so foolish as to be sidetracked. She had thought that there would be not be any underhand tactics involved, even though there had been this little thing about 'no rules'. But still…

_Get yourself together, now's not the time to rue!_

Her sword was still in her hand, and that was a good thing. Although her calf was in pain, her short sword had taken most of the brunt of the slicing, still, she tried her best to ignore the growing sticky pool of blood forming on the sole of her boot. Her neck was held captive in a pair of rusty 'scissors', a blade on each side, forming an 'x'. Somewhere near the back of her mind she wondered how he was to keep her an inch from death if he was to behead her.

But then one could take the term on the literal side.

Her sword tightened in her grasp even as she felt the pressure on her neck increase. His hands were rested on her shoulders, severely restricting arm movement. She could only move her elbows and wrists, but even that was enough.

Hadn't she been in this spot before with Hidaer?

But then, it was different, he would never kill her, instead, he would release her, with the warning that others would not be that merciful.

And now she was experiencing that firsthand.

Her sword quickly sliced through the air, whistling softly –almost unheard by the din –and finally made contact with the soft flesh of the man's belly as it sliced across. The pressure on her neck relaxed and she quickly pushed those arms away, getting out from the jaws of steel that had so recently enclosed her.

He stumbled back, howling ferociously at the scratch her sword had made. It was not _that_ deep, and would heal in a weeks if allowed to. Though not if she could help it. With a roar, he charged towards her, and she held her up sword to parry his move. His whole strength was in that move, and even as his blades hit her sword, her calf gave way. And she was almost crouching backwards on the floor, with her other hand preventing her from completely falling on her back.

For someone who had just suffered a cut to his stomach, he had some measure of strength.

Slowly, she brought his knives away from him, steel grating upon steel as she gritted her teeth. But the effort was enough to enable her to resume a standing position. Quickly, she brought her sword away, and watched as his hand swung back to hit her again –

–and dropped uselessly onto the floor, neatly severed mid-forearm by her sword.

Arterial blood quickly spurted out from the gaping wounds, slicking the platform red and wet. He whirled about, screaming, as she watched as the onlookers quickly took several steps back to avoid getting blood on them.

Turning back towards her, he narrowed his eyes, and she finally understood that he could rather kill her along with himself than make her the winner.

Fine by her too.

She watched him charge forward –as he had a hundred times prior –in slow motion, as she sheathed her sword and picked up both his blades in one swift motion. He was so overcome with agony that he barely noticed them in her hands. So overcome with agony that it was impossible for him to scream any louder than what he was achieving currently.

But he could.

And he did, when his blades both pierced his stomach wound and his one of his lungs.

Kyelia decided to wait a moment longer than necessary before pulling the blades out, and prepared for a second shot. But she needn't have too.

He collapsed straight on the platform, slightly shaking it as he did. The tavern manager slowly strode up, trying not to get blood on his 'impeccable' suit as he did. Technically, the man was an inch from death, she had made sure of that, and the manager had signaled to the barmaid with the bell even before he had remotely reached the blood-soaked man.

The bell rung.

She had won this round.

Breathing deeply, she threw his blades aside, and stepped down from the platform. If there was a day she decided to start learning how to drink, perhaps this was it.

**xxxxx**

The whole company was increasing excited about her getting past the first rounds… with four more to go. Beer sloshed over the rim of mugs as they were clanked together to shouts and laughter.

"The first year we didn't crash out! We ought to celebrate!" one had shouted.

She had turned to Braegon at that, accusation in her eyes, silently asking him why he had bragged that they had 'won' last year. All she got was a shrug from him. Perhaps he had wanted to keep her spirits up, or something.

Soon after she had stepped down the platform, she had gone to get a mug of beer, and Braegon had come to bring her outside. The night was at least over for her, and perhaps for the others as well. The platform was so slicked in blood that she wondered how were they going to clear up the mess she left. Just as well, she was never the neat type anyway.

But what if the authorities came? They may find traces of blood and launch an investigation, she might be found… and everything be for naught.

Kyelia shook her head, and banished the negative thoughts to the back of her mind. No, everything would be all right. It must be.

The man had died not really long after she was proclaimed winner. Well, he _had_ been an inch from death when he went down. What happened after the bell had rung was not included, and she was rather glad of it. His blood-soaked body had been quickly stuffed into a sack and dragged away. His blood had still managed to seep through the thick material of the sack, leaving dark splotches against the light-brownish color of the sack.

His company had glared at her while his body was being carried away, and their captain personally went to Braegon outside later with the money. The coins had tinkled within their pouch, and it was music to the rest. They had practically salivated like a pack of hungry dogs over the money… and promptly used half of the money on drinks that would give them hangovers the next morning.

Definitely a good example of money being put to _very_ good use.

The beer was horrendously foul, and she wondered how they could stomach that stuff. The moment she had taken a sip of it, she had almost coughed her lungs out. She was sure that the men did not laugh at her only out of fear of getting their hands chopped off. Filrah, however, had been sympathetic and patted her shoulder after she had recovered from her coughing fit.

"Nice to know that someone can't drink this stuff too," he had grinned at her. She had been to busy sucking for breath to come up with a suitable retort.

Not that she had seen him since then though, she thought as she scanned around for him. Definitely not in the vicinity. Frowning, she wondered where he could have been. He seemed to like disappearing from time to time, and then reappear a few moments later looking as if nothing was up. Something was wrong, and somewhere something nagged at her about the conversation they had at her first day there.

Wasn't he about to say something when Braegon had interrupted?

Then again, it could be nothing, something trival.

Sighing, she signaled to Braegon that she was going back, and he immediately sent two of his less drunk comrade to accompany her. the next round was tomorrow night. And she had too really tend to that leg of hers soon.

_Tbc…_

* * *

Review! Please!

**lindahoyland: **thanks for reviewing! I haven't been on for a really long time due to schoolwork and stuff… and I really really really have to catch up on your story! It's getting better and better!

**LoTRwriter27:** I've finally updated! Wheee! Your story is interesting. Do update soon! Glad you're enjoying my story. grins

**wene:** not really updated soon… but soon enough I hope?

**mello:** wolverine! grins I like his claws. And yeah… updated. Finished reading enough jack/ralph slash I hope?


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